


Country Matters

by babydraco



Series: Hot Blood, Hot Thoughts and Hot Deeds:  Reign AU Fics [1]
Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Christmas, Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Female!Bash, Female!Francis, Female!James, Ice Skating, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Infidelity, Lady!James is the unwilling and unwitting, Male Gaze, Male!Greer, Male!Lola, Male!Mary, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Period-Typical Sexism, Religious Conflict, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rule 63, Unrequited Lust, Veronica to Emily's Betty, Winter, please just bear with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-07 14:16:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10362294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babydraco/pseuds/babydraco
Summary: King Malcolm of Scotland has invited Captain Greer Norwood to join him for his first official Christmas at court. Sparks fly between the privateer and the king's sister, but if Greer wants Lady Moray, he'll have to get past her treacherous mentor. Meanwhile, all is not as it seems with the Queen's pregnancy.





	1. Country Matters (Genderswap  AU,  James/Greer, James/Knox) pt 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've made this into a series with individual stories instead of one fic with different themed chapters. This is to avoid that dreaded Wall O Tags and the confusion involved. The first story also ended up longer than I expected, and doesn't qualify as a "short fic" after all, that could happen again so I thought I'd do this instead.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Malcolm of Scotland has invited Captain Greer to join him for his first official Christmas at court. Sparks fly between the privateer and the king's sister, but if Greer wants Lady Moray, he'll have to get past her treacherous mentor. Meanwhile, all is not as it seems with the Queen's pregnancy.

_I know about what you did_  
And I want to scream the truth  
She thinks you love the beach  
You're such a damn liar  
Well, those great whites  
They have big teeth  
Lorde- “Green Light”

December 23, 1559, Edinburgh, Scotland.

The first thing Captain Greer Norwood of Kinross did when he alighted from _The Alice Rose_ , when his feet touched Scottish soil for the first time in three years, was to seek out a tailor in the port and purchase a warm coat and winter boots. He would get his hair cut after he shocked his friends with how long it had grown. Greer, his trunk full of Christmas presents and his hired carriage arrived in Edinburgh as the lamps on the snowy road up to the castle were being lit to banish the blackness. He gave his name to the guards at the gates, and allowed them to search his carriage for gunpowder and weapons other than what he carried on his person (a pair of pistols and a cutlass). The new king's first official Christmas celebration could be a target for any number of assassins and insurgents with a diverse collection of motivations. 

“Captain! It is Captain now, isn't it?” King Malcolm exclaimed from the doorway of the warm stables where Greer was supervising the transport of his luggage. Greer dipped his knee out of instinct but the king pulled him into a tight bear hug. 

“Your Majesty,” Greer said when he was able to breathe again. “Yes, it's Captain now, there's an unsurprising amount of job turnover in this profession. You look well.”

“As do you. The South Seas air clearly agrees with you.” Malcolm draped an arm over his shoulders. “Come in before your arse freezes off and say hullo to the wife.” 

In the keep, a manservant took the king's coat, but Malcolm waved away any offer to help with his boots. Castle staff were engaged in draping evergreen boughs over banisters and windowsills while others industriously cleaned paintings and lighting fixtures. Greer hadn't been to the seat of Scottish Court in years but almost nothing had changed. Everything still spoke of the late Queen Mother's taste. Perhaps they hadn't had the time to put their own mark on it yet. 

“Frannie, look who I've brought.” Malcolm strode towards two young ladies standing casually in the Great Hall. One woman was dark haired, of average height, her head bent in discussion with a dainty blonde. The blonde gestured toward servants who were arranging a long banquet table, and the brunette held a paper which appeared to be a seating chart. The blonde looked up and saw him, and she beamed. 

“ _Greer, my goodness._ ” As she turned, she revealed the shape of a pregnant belly under her blue winter gown. She was at least six months along if he was any judge. She shifted toward him.

“No, please, Your Grace, no need to exert yourself, let me come to you.” He went to her, gave a short bow, and accepted a careful hug and kiss on the cheek. “Congratulations on the pregnancy.”

“ _Merci_. As long as it's healthy, although it would help if we have a boy. Oh, it's been almost two years since I saw you last. You look different. You're getting brown, and you look so dashing but the hair, why is it so long? ”

“I've been exploring the New World as captain of my own independent ship _The Alice Rose._ There are no barbers on the high seas, Your Grace. You can imagine how bad the haircuts would be,with all the rocking.”

“How exciting, we shall hear all about it at dinner.” Queen Francoise clapped her little hands. “Malcolm, _mon cheri_ , this is a lovely Christmas surprise. He will stay for the entire Twelve Days no arguing.” 

“Yes, my dove.” Malcolm had strolled up and kissed the top of his wife's head while they were speaking. “ And Captain Norwood has met my sister, of course.” Malcolm indicated the queen's brunette friend, who bobbed her head toward him.

“Lady Isobel. I remember being so much shorter than you.” He'd met her in childhood, and seen her briefly once when she'd come to France for Malcolm's wedding but so much had been happening at the time, he'd pushed his attraction to the side. Now he wondered how he'd ever been oblivious. Malcolm's sister in the full blossom of womanhood made his heart catch in his chest. There was definitely a disconcertingly strong family resemblance, the same dark hair, large and heavy lidded eyes, long eyelashes and fair skin, the same mouth. But she was smaller, his eyes were lighter while hers were the color of Spanish chocolate, her features were softer and smoother and she smelled like an expensive flower garden. It wasn't just the fact that he hadn't been this close to a woman in months that caused him to decide she was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever met, he'd always thought that. It had only become something he couldn't ignore in this moment. 

“Well, I hope you won't look down on me _too_ much, Captain,” Isobel replied, subtly painted red lips flashing him a demure smile with a flicker of mischief in it. 

After two years at sea, he was trying to remember how to behave like a gentleman, so he didn't say the first thing that popped into his mind, which was _I find looking down on you quite enjoyable at the moment_ , in reference to his perfect view of her breasts. They were high, and firm, and round, and soft looking, swelling up from the bodice of her brown day dress. She wore a small, unadorned gold Protestant cross around her pale throat. 

“But you must be so tired,” Queen Francoise interjected. “Malcolm, why are you making him stand around talking to us?”

“Yes, uh,” the king coughed. “We're getting snow all over the floor, which I'm sure you just had washed.”

“I've already had a guest room cleaned and stocked for him,” Isobel said. “Captain, if you need anything special, just come and find me and I'll see that you're well taken care of.” Her face barely give away any evidence that she'd just made a double entendre, but he had the definite impression she had done exactly that. 

“Izzie,” Francoise hissed when the tall blond gentleman and the king had gone off to get him settled in, “Do you flirt with him?”

“I do indeed flirt with him,” Isobel replied, smiling after him. It would be unseemly to openly advertise it too much, she had to let him make the first move. But she was determined to lead him there by the end of the day. He was quite handsome, even more than she'd remembered, with an air of masculine confidence which had been less present when she encountered him at the wedding. The long scar across the right side of his face intrigued her. What exotic part of the world had he been in when he received that? 

“Then let us arrange for you to sit across from him at the Christmas banquet. He can be yours to kiss-or do more with- by the New Year.” The queen giggled . “She who makes the seating chart runs the world.”

“Try not to go mad with power,” Isobel said. “Now, do we want pear tarts or apple?”

Bash rode in by the afternoon of Christmas Eve, and she brought presents. 

“Merry Yule,” Malcolm said. "If that's what I'm supposed to say." He procured a glass of wine for her, but she waved it off. 

“And _Joyeux Noel_ to all of you,” Bash replied. “Sorry, Mal, I'm not allowed any alcohol or meat during this part of the training. Little Sister, you're practically glowing.”

“Never mind that, Bash, where's my present?” 

“Why don't you chase me down and get it?” Bash said. “Oh that's right, you can't.” Francoise fixed her with a simpering, sarcastic expression. She was propped up on a chaise and had been complaining all day about being too tired to move. But she loved the silver bracelet with the delicately worked leaf pattern her sister had purchased in Ireland. Isobel presented Malcolm with a pair of fur lined slippers, and he gave her a large fox fur hat. 

“I expected to see Lachlan tonight. Is he not...at court at present?” Bash asked. “I brought him cufflinks.”

“Lachlan has gone home to visit his parents,” Malcolm said. The queen squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back reassuringly. An odd look passed between them. 

“Oh. Alright. I'll save them for when I see him. Isobel, look what I got for you.” 

Isobel gasped upon opening the wooden box. She lifted the object out to show it off. 

“Look, it's one of those gun things! Please, show me how to use it tomorrow.” 

“I worry so much about your safety here,” Bash explained. “And this can dispatch an attacker from several feet away, but unlike a bow, you could carry it around in a small bag. Perhaps one of your cunning little evening purses.” 

Greer had presents for everyone as well, a map of the South Seas for Malcolm, new paints for the queen's easel, although she could not use them until after the baby came, a dagger with a carved mother of pearl hilt for Bash, and finally, a dainty pearl bracelet for Isobel. 

“I...you should not-you didn't have to... Thank you, it's lovely,” Isobel murmured. She couldn't contain her delighted smile though. 

“May I help you try it on?”

“Of course.” Her heart stuttered at the touch of his callused fingers on her wrist. Greer had made his move, now she was free to make hers. 

After presents, Isobel excused herself to get dressed for the evening service at Reverend Knox's church. She would be riding in the carriage with the minster and his wife, to set an example as their highest ranking parishioner and royal defender of the new faith. 

Isobel was eager to show off her new hat, and the black and silver coat with the matching collar and cuffs she'd bought for herself. She left the top buttons open in hopes that Greer would notice. He was waiting near the door, she was sure he was doing so just to see her as she left for church, as he would be remaining behind for the king's dinner and private mass with his favored Catholic nobles. She saw his eyes light on her bosom, his Adam's Apple visibly shifted in his throat as he swallowed hard. Reverend Knox noticed as well, his gaze flickered between them. 

“Lady Isobel,” he scolded gently, “I would like it if you buttoned your coat. There's a good girl.”

“Thank you for reminding me,” she said, mildly embarrassed at being corrected in front of her family. But he was right to ask her not to sit in the front row of his church on Christmas Eve looking like a trollop. Greer had seen what she wanted him to, and that was all that mattered. 

“Who is the blond man you spoke to on the way out?” Knox asked on the carriage ride to the church. 

“That's Captain Greer Norwood, he's a childhood friend of my brother's. He does something in the maritime trade.”

“So he's a pirate,” Knox said. “A Catholic pirate.”

“I don't know? I haven't had much time to ask him.” She resented his questioning of her and Malcolm's friends. He hated Catholics, and kings, and her brother specifically.

“We're only concerned for you,” Emily said. She leaned across the carriage and patted Isobel's hand. “It doesn't look good for our cause to get too close to men like that. If you'd like a new husband, John and I will help you find someone more suitable.”

“I suppose,” Isobel replied. She folded her gloved hands in her lap, and stared out at Edinburgh passing by. She wanted one thing she didn't have to give to the “cause”, socially suitable men were not always the best husbands at home. At the church, the Reverend gave both women a hand out of the carriage. It had begun to snow heavily. Isobel tipped her head back, and stuck out her tongue to catch the flakes. Emily giggled. Her husband heaved a fondly exasperated sigh, turned on his heel and proceeded inside. All heads turned toward them as Isobel trailed up the center aisle behind him, in the wake of his black robes, arm in arm with Emily. 

After dinner, Malcolm took Francoise's arm and led his court through the torch lit corridors to the castle chapel. As Greer understood it, when he'd first arrived in Scotland, the doors had been nailed shut and the king had demanded the room be reopened in spite of Knox's protestations. All the Catholic nobles and castle staff attending this night had been heavily vetted, and the corridor outside was lined with armed guards. The priest's hands shook as he began the mass. 

_Dóminus dixit ad me: Fílius meus es tu, ego hódie génui te._

Greer knelt in the perfumed darkness beside his king and queen, murmuring his responses as the snow continued to fall outside. 

_Qui tecum vivit et regnat in unitáte Spíritus Sancti, Deus, per ómnia sæcula sæculórum. Amen._

He stayed in the chapel after everyone else had left, to give thanks for arriving safely home, and pray for the health and safety of Alice in her prison cell, and for Marta and Rose. He took his time walking back to his room. 

Lady Isobel stood gazing out a window, illuminated by a candelabra and faint moonbeams which reflected off her fair skin. She wore an emerald green dressing gown embroidered with flowers over her nightdress, and her thick black hair hung loose around her shoulders. 

“Can't sleep?” he asked, softly so as not to startle her. 

“Aye.”

“Me neither. That was the most anxiety ridden midnight mass I've ever attended.” 

“I like watching the snow when I can't quiet my mind,” Isobel said. “It reminds me of being safe in my father's arms, when I was little and he was here. He would tell me stories when I couldn't sleep. I can pretend everything's going to be alright.”

“You think it won't be?” Greer asked. He joined her to peer out the massive window at the flakes falling and the starlit sky. 

“I'm just a woman, no one cares that I think this war between our cousin and my brother won't stop until it destroys us all. This country and its people and our ancient legacy are mine to protect too.” 

“And you have to think in more pragmatic terms,” he agreed. He fell a little bit in love with the undertone of steel in her voice. She raised her eyebrows and quirked her head. 

“Since before I was grown. I'm his older sister, I should be the one protecting _him_.”

“As did I,”Greer said. “No titled family, younger siblings to worry about, sent into the king's entourage in hopes I'd bring back some social advantage. I rose, I fell, I'm rising again. But everything's been out of necessity. My dreams never turned out the way I tried so hard to plan.” 

“Much easier to forget about reality when it's snowing prettily. I realize now that I'm an adult, that my father's talent for storytelling is the reason he had several children by multiple women. He wath quite tharming.” The last couple of words were indistinct, he realized she was eating something, distractedly licking icing off her fingertips. And wasn't that a tempting sight. 

“Did you sneak cake from the kitchen?”

“No...yeth,” she said with her mouth full. “I wasn't allowed any earlier, because I'm a heretic. Did you want some?” 

“ _Of course I do_.” 

She hand fed it to him with elegant fingers, and wiped the crumbs off his mouth. He leaned into her touch, she rewarded him with a little kiss on the side of his mouth. He cupped her face in his palms, and turned it into a real kiss, slow and deep. She tasted like the Christmas cake. She responded happily at first, going boneless against him, and then gently pushed him away. 

“Forgive me, My Lady. I-I forgot myself,” he said. 

“I didn't mind,” she gasped. “But I should go back to bed. Reverend Knox says the new face of Scottish Protestantism shouldn't cavort with men. Everyone's depending on me not to fuck this up.”

“I understand.” He did, his brain and heart understood. His body, one part in particular, absolutely did not. 

“Happy Christmas, Captain.” 

“Happy Christmas, Lady Isobel.”

He swore she was blushing and he knew from the way her pupils were dilated that she was on the verge of asking him to accompany her to her apartments despite the initial protest. But she didn't, so he tried to will away his arousal. She headed back up the stairs with her candle. He gazed after her, aware the expression on his face could be termed “dazed and dopey”. 

“I'll be seeing that in my dreams,” Greer sighed. 

“My sister going up stairs?” Malcolm asked, pausing in his journey across the hall. He wore his own dressing gown and had two hot toddies in his hands. 

“God created women. Man created stairs. Put them together and the effect is hypnotic.”

“Are you actually interested in her or do you just like staring at her bottom?” Malcolm teased. 

“I'm asking your permission here. I'm not asking to marry her, I know why that can't happen-I'm not of noble blood-”

“She's a Protestant, you're a Catholic pirate.”

“ _But I hoped_ we could enjoy each other's company. And I'm _not a pirate_ ,” Greer said.

“If you have her consent first, you have mine. For anything the two of you want to do together. She's widowed, and not promised to anyone at the moment. It looks as if she likes you back, since she accepted your token today. Greer, I've known you since we were six and I know, despite your profession, you're a good man. And she's had too many bad men.”

“What do you mean?” Greer asked. 

“Never mind. It's not my place to say any more. Good luck, my man.”

Isobel's skin prickled with heat by the time she firmly shut the door to her rooms. She only half disrobed before collapsing on the bed. Her thighs shifted against each other, parted for her hand to stroke up her thigh, between her legs as she grew slick. She lightly brushed her fingers over her slit, the soft skin and silky hair, just teasing at first as she opened like a flower to herself. Isobel traced fingertips over all her most sensitive places, her breath quickened, she imagined Captain Greer kissing and licking all over the same areas, she grew wetter and wetter thinking about how he would thrust his cock inside her. She whimpered, increasing the pressure on her clit, raising a hand to her exposed breast to tease her nipple. 

The girl was so weak willed and lustful she had forgotten to close her curtains. He stood in the shadows of the small upstairs library, which he sometimes used as a personal office, the spot in the castle which had a direct view into Lady Isobel's apartments. Her eyes were squeezed shut, white teeth biting at a red bottom lip, her sinful hands groping at her cunt, cupping a milky pale breast. He imagined she moaned like a whore when she threw her head back and spasmed on the bed. He shouldn't look, he was supposed to be guiding her in the paths of righteousness, but he was transfixed, as if she was weaving some sort of spell over him, a Delilah, a Salome, stirring things inside him which shouldn't be. Feelings which, if they were permitted to exist at all as a necessity, should be for Emily alone. Emily was his pure angel, she would never do the what this dark goddess was doing now, Emily would never writhe on a bed, daring to bring forth her own pleasure for no other reason than pure want. He could never ask her to do that. As Lady Isobel's mouth opened in a silent wail, the Devil came to him and gave him the desire to possess her. 

He failed to hear the footsteps crossing the floorboards, and Captain Norwood was blocking the window, leaning on it with his back to the glass. 

“Let's give the lady a little privacy.”

“I don't know what you're implying but I-” Shame and mortification filled him, and for once he could admit to a certain panic. The Captain had no loyalty to him, he was a Catholic and Malcolm's man through and through. He had no reason to keep quiet about this. 

“Came in here for a little bedtime reading? Go home to your own wife, Reverend and maybe I won't tell anyone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am doing my best but refuse to promise perfect accuracy. That's where I stand on that particular debate. I use a mix of Real Life and Show Canon, but when in doubt I choose Show Canon. 
> 
>  
> 
> "Country Matters" is story taking place in a Reign Rule 63 universe I've been planning. The full Rule 63 AU project will have a list of characters and their corresponding gender changes, new names, and fancasts.
> 
> Male Lola is now called "Lachlan" in case that confused anyone.
> 
> Greer has only ever been referred to as "Greer" on the show, or sometimes "Greer of Kinross". It was only after I was nearly finished writing this that I discovered she has an actual surname, so I chose to use it.
> 
> Like the show itself, I have a firm rule against repetitive naming regardless of how realistic it is. And I usually don't believe in simply switching the names of siblings in a Rule 63 (it's cisswap, not personality swap). Why did I choose to name Female!James "Isobel" though? It was very hard to find an approximation of "James" for women I liked which I hadn't already used. I use "Jemma" for Rule 63 Bucky Barnes in Marvel fics. "Jacqueline" is also a feminine form of "James" (from "Jacques") but I had already used that in a Rule 63 Kings fic. "Isobel" is, coincidentally, another form of "Elizabeth" and definitely a name a woman living in that time and place would realistically have. It occurred to me that her name would, realistically, probably be "Margaret" but I don't particularly care, I'm not writing siblings with alliterating names and calling male Mary "James" would have just confused readers. 
> 
> The words of the mass are from a [traditional Christmas midnight mass in Latin](http://www.public.asu.edu/~rhaefer/quickpropers/christmasmidnight.html). Although I have no idea if that's one they'd actually use. 
> 
> the opening, "The Lord hath said to me: Thou art My Son, this day have I begotten Thee"  
> and the closing "Who with Thee liveth and reigneth in the unity of the Holy Ghost, God, world without end. Amen."


	2. Country Matters (Genderswap  AU,  James/Greer, James/Knox)  pt 2/3

_And we walked down the block, to my car_  
And I almost brought him up  
But you start to talk about the movies  
That your family watches every single Christmas  
And I want to talk about that  
And for the first time  
What's past is past  
Taylor Swift, “Begin Again” 

“I'm getting all these signals that she wants to take things further,” Greer said. “Only, I can't get around her priest.”

“Reverend Knox?” Malcolm sipped hot mulled cider from a goblet while a manservant tightened the fastenings on his ice skates. Greer gazed at Lady Isobel and Bash, playing a spirited game of hockey with some children. 

“Yes, him,” Greer replied. “If he's not creepily hovering about her, she's parroting his words. I thought we'd made a connection last night, but she came home from church and practically ran away after I kissed her. She said Knox advised her not to get involved with any men.”

“My sister, giving up men? That, I don't believe at all, regardless of this new pious image she's going for.”

“But she seems to worship him. Which I don't understand. Don't you think he-”

“Has a low opinion of women? That's what Frannie thinks and Bash agrees, and I do trust their judgment. Women seem to have an instinct for knowing when men hate them before the man opens his mouth and confirms it. Izzie keeps her own counsel, though. She may play the insubstantial social butterfly but she's secretive, it's impossible to tell whether she really believes his preaching or she pretends to because she needed him to support her regency. ”

“And she'll need him again if something should happen to you,” Greer said. He passed his own empty cup to a waiting servant. 

“Exactly. She couldn't hold Scotland without him at this point. She's keeping him in reserve because she doesn't trust that I can do this. She thinks I'll lose.”

“Mal-” Greer sighed. He was right, Isobel had told Greer as much the night before, but he failed to see the bigger picture. She was the second most powerful woman in Scotland, yet her very life still depended on a relationship with a male protector. She had no current husband and her illegitimacy made this worse, since she could never be queen in her own right. It made sense for her to hedge her bets between her king and Scotland's _de facto_ religious leader. “Anyway. He's always interfering, as if he's either trying to be her father, or he wants to fuck her as badly as I do.”

“Greer!” Malcolm groaned. 

“Sorry. Water her flowers. Eat French pastries. Go for a nice ride in the country. Is that better, Sir Raised By Monks?” 

“It's not the cursing, it's the _mental pictures_. But maybe he needs her political favor as much as she needs his, to establish his theocracy or simply to get to me through her.” 

“ Maybe. But I caught him doing something his flock would definitely disapprove of. I don't know if I should tell her, is it my place?”

“Depends on what it is. As your king, of course, I think you ought to tell me at least.” Malcolm grinned mischievously.

“I caught him watching a woman pleasuring herself.” 

“Oh _My God_ ,” Malcolm said, he laughed so loudly a couple of castle servants glanced over. “We can use that. Just give me time to figure out how. Now go skate with her, she's been very patient. Don't forget to mention her outfit, she probably wore it for you. ” 

Greer stood and skated over to Isobel on wobbly legs. It had been quite some time since he'd worn ice skates. She might have been laughing at him, just a bit, as he nearly crashed into her. 

“I like your muff.”

“Well, that's forward of you,”she said. “It's bear.”

He pictured her wearing nothing else, draped in front of a fireplace, and only felt a little guilty at already knowing what she looked like undressed. 

“Whatever you're thinking,” Isobel said, “Stop it, you dirty man.” She helped him stay steady as they skated, but in such a way that made it look as if _he_ was steadying _her_. 

“You don't have to do that.”

“Do what?” Isobel asked innocently. Their skates made a skish skish sound across the ice. 

“Pander to my male pride. I know I'm not a good skater,” Greer said.

“Nonsense. You're doing fine. A woman should support her man. Sometimes she has to do so literally.”

“And I'm your man now?” Greer asked. “I don't want you to have any false impressions of me.”

“I didn't mean anything formal by that,” Isobel said. “And that was ominous sounding.”

“As you've guessed, I have a somewhat checkered past,” Greer began. 

“We've all done things we're ashamed of.”

“I was married,” Greer explained. “ My friend and patron, King Claude of France, has interceded with the Vatican to have it annulled. Because my wife lied. She lied about being a Protestant, and she was caught up in a mass arrest of Protestants who were involved in a violent incident. She had unwittingly funded the whole thing. I was shamed and penniless, guilty by association for marrying a traitor. I lost my position at court, my reputation, most of my friends, a woman I'd come to love. I tried to save my marriage, but it ultimately grew too difficult and she asked me to let her go. ”

“I'm so sorry, that wasn't fair to you at all.” Isobel placed her cold hand on his cheek. Greer's face heated. 

“And I have a daughter, still a baby. Her name is Rose. Her mother is a woman I met in my travels. We're not married, we're not together at all, although I do contribute to her upbringing, they live in France, so you don't need to worry about that.”

“I love babies and children adore me. I would like to meet her some day.”

“What?” Greer felt just a bit off kilter at her response. 

“Is that it?” Isobel asked. “I thought you'd reveal dark and terrible things. You are too hard on yourself.”

“And I suppose you have real dark and terrible secrets in your past.” 

“Perhaps I do,” Isobel said. She smirked up at him. “I'm surprised you haven't already heard. Oh!” They had skated far beyond the party, behind a stand of trees where no one could see them. “My maid will come looking for me. Or one of my friends. Or my brother. To ensure we're not getting up to anything. Not that we could, considering the amount of layers we have on.”

“Don't worry about your brother. I've already spoken to him about you. He said if I have your consent, I have his.”

“How generous,” Isobel said. Her face screwed up in distaste. “My little brother grants us permission. I'm a grown woman and neither innocent nor a virgin.”

“He is our king. It's his right to permit or deny relationships between members of his court. It's just a formality.”

“I know. But when he was off in France, I did what I wanted, with whomever I wanted. If I made a mistake, I dealt with it, because I'm an adult. An adult, who was at one point, given charge of an entire country.”

“Your stepmother never forbade you from going off with certain boys?” Greer asked. 

“She interfered sometimes. When I was younger, and as my _parent_ , which is far less demeaning even if I resented it at the time.”

“I'm sorry, I was trying to do the right thing.”

“I'm not angry,” Isobel said. But she clearly was, with the sort of silent, exhausted, resentment of a woman who has given up on fighting an issue.“I have to go inside. There's much still to do before the ball tonight.”

He reached for her hand and caught it. 

“Lady Isobel, please don't. Please don't run away again.”

“I'm not running, I'm skating. Please, take your hand off me.” It started as a royal command and became a soft plea. He had no choice but to comply. She glided off toward a cluster of pretty, richly dressed young women who all shot sour looks at him. 

The ballroom that evening was a bejeweled whirlwind of evergreen, lights, and gowns of silk, and satin twirling across the floor. Isobel loved seeing all the planning she and Francoise had done, come to life. At the banquet, guests had been presented with six roast geese, three cakes, two choices of wine, four puddings (but no Lord of Misrule this year) apple tarts and assorted small pastries. The best orchestra in the city played new dances from the Continent as well as traditional Scottish fare. The queen took on the formal hosting duties, while Isobel mingled, listening to stories about the grande dames and their grandchildren, gossiping with the younger noble ladies, discussing the latest in hats and boys with the teenage girls and dancing with eligible men (and twisting neatly away from their fathers groping hands). 

George Gordon was sweaty, and clumsy, and clearly had no idea what to do with a girl. She plotted ways to politely extract herself by the end of the song. If they played something faster, she could lose him in the crowd. Greer and his partner, Lady Kirkwell, moved into her line of sight. When the song changed, Greer approached her, and bowed with his hand out. Isobel took it. 

“Thought I should rescue you from the Gordon boy,” he said as they whirled around to a Highland reel. 

“I can handle him, he seems to be afraid of me.”

“I don't blame him for being overwhelmed,” Greer said. “But it's not a good look for a future chieftain.”

“They'll be pushovers with him in charge,” Isobel agreed. “If I'm nice to him now, it'll be even easier later.” They lost the ability to talk and dance at the same time as the music reached a frenetic pace. They spun and spun and all she could see was Greer and candlelight. They were laughing by the time the music ended and they stumbled back to the food. Isobel grabbed two cups of the red wine, looking longingly at the display of cream filled pastries. 

“No one will stop you if you have one,” Greer said. “No one will stop you if you have anything else you see here tonight that you might want.” 

Isobel picked a puff pastry and ate it slowly, licking the cream from her lips. 

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

The truth was, she was tired of fending off her desire for him. What good was denying it doing for anyone, except her minister, whose concern it was _not_. It would be stupid to let this man sail back out of her life after the holiday, without at least taking a chance on him. 

“By the way, another stunning choice of dresses, Lady Isobel,” Greer said. It was wine colored velvet with a lace under dress and she had worn rubies to match. It had taken the help of three maids to get into. 

“I never got you a Christmas present,” Isobel said. “So, I thought, as an apology for my pouting this afternoon, you might like to unwrap _me._ ”

“First of all, you don't have to apologize for reacting badly to something _I_ did that hurt you. Especially not with...favors. I was trying to do the right thing, but the right thing was to consult you before consulting your brother. Second, are you sure? What about the political consequences?”

“I'm not strong enough to give this up for the cause,” Isobel said. “The Knoxes don't understand, they're, uh, they're sexual camels. Alas, I don't have the same willpower over my sinful and self indulgent nature. I struggle. And you are worth giving in to that struggle for. I hope.”

“I'll do my best not to disappoint, My Lady... _sex camels_?” Greer asked. 

“Yes. Camels can store water for a long time. Emily tells me they rarely make love and that it doesn't bother her. But I am not that patient and my bed is waiting.” 

“As you wish!” Greer swept her up in his arms, and made his way out of the ballroom. Queen Francoise gave them a nod of encouragement, raising her wine glass in support. 

“I'm going to fuck a pirate!” Isobel mouthed at her. Francoise giggled, then pressed a hand to her stomach and whimpered softly.

“Well, that's happening, wherever it's going,” Malcolm said as delighted female shrieking faded off in the direction of Isobel's rooms. “I'm glad they're enjoying themselves. Frannie? ”

“I'm alright. I'm fine.” But she whimpered again. 

“You are not fine, darling.” Malcolm turned to Bash. “Can you take her to a quiet room? We need to fetch her doctor.”

“He's already here, Isobel invited him just in case.” 

They dispatched a servant to find him. Bash helped the queen carefully from the room, the sisters whispering in anxious French. 

Lady Isobel was heavier than she looked. Greer put this down to her ballgown, the farthingale, the layers of petticoats alone must have added about ten pounds. But he would never be so ungrateful as to complain out loud. While Isobel locked the door behind them, Greer closed the curtains, making a point of giving a threatening glance up at the window of that little library even though it was unlikely the Reverend was up there tonight. 

Undressing her was much like unwrapping a present, with all the lace, and velvet and gold. Nearly naked, Isobel was even more beautiful up close than she had been in his brief glimpse through the window. All the blood in his body rushed south. Anxiety flashed across her face, gone as soon as he saw it, but he took note and shifted to give her space, a chance to push him away if she needed. 

“I want this,” she assured him. She kissed him eagerly, tugging his clothes off and him toward the bed soft hand on his painfully hard cock. Isobel wrapped a leg around his waist, he pulled her closer with one palm splayed against her hip as she ground on his thigh. He dipped his fingers inside her, and felt how wet she was. 

“May I?” He groaned. 

“Yes, please!” With unsurprising athleticism, she rolled them over so he was underneath, straddled him, and sank down. He gripped her hips as he was enveloped in her tight heat, and lost all capacity for rational thought. 

“What if I gave it all up and ran away? Became a sailor like you?” She lay against his chest after, lazily teasing between her own legs, shivering. 

“The sea is not a good place for high born ladies. Or any ladies for that matter.”

Isobel tucked her knees up to her chest. And he saw, in the hunch of her slight shoulders, the row of barely visible scars on her back. 

“I wasn't being serious anyway, I probably wouldn't enjoy it. But you'd be surprised what high born ladies can endure, Captain.” 

It all made sense now and he realized this was a sacred moment, a test of her faith in him. He leaned over, and brushed her hair out of the way, then kissed each scar gently. 

Waking up in bed with Greer was lovely. Different, too, because he was still there, and she wanted him to be. She was used to two types of lovers, men who would not stay despite wishing they would, and men who would not _leave_ despite wishing they would. A great tension had left her body, and even though he was two feet away, she felt him as if he were still hot and hard inside her. She would not consider any consequences for this today. Isobel kissed him awake, stroking her fingers over the scar on his face. 

They bathed each other with cloths and the perfumed water from the basin on her vanity. Isobel planned for them to bathe together more thoroughly later, but her stomach was already grumbling.

“I've got to call my maid to dress me.”

“Let me help? Please?”

“Alright,” Isobel said skeptically. But he was a quick student in lacing her into a green wool everyday dress. He made putting on her clothes as sensual as taking them off, with the same patience, thoroughness and gentle hands. 

“What's on your schedule for Boxing Day?” Greer asked. 

“Francoise and I planned a post party breakfast just for family, we'll all distribute our gifts to the castle servants, then Bash is going to show me how to fire the gun.” Isobel swept her hair in a bun at the base of her neck, adding two small gold combs. 

“Do you want to arrive first or should I?” Greer asked. 

“They saw us leave together last night, so I don't imagine there'd be any shock seeing us walk in together today.” As it turned out, there were more important things going on in the castle. 

“Good morning, you two,” Bash said. She looked them up and down with a knowing smile. Isobel winked back at her. She realized that they'd been having an intense, worried conversation as she arrived. 

“Has something happened?”

“The queen took ill after you left the party, ”Malcolm explained. “It's- her doctor says it's nothing too serious, she just broke two ribs. Two ribs doing nothing. Laughing at a party. He wants her on bed rest as much as possible.”

“Mal, you look exhausted,” Isobel said. “Have you eaten? Have you slept?”

“He slept beside her all night on the chaise,” Bash replied. “She told me, before I went to the garden to pray for her, she wants her _maman_ here for the birth.” 

“I agree. That would help immensely. You have no idea how relieved I'd be to see the Queen Mother of France walk through our doors. But the Channel is unsafe to cross in winter,” Malcolm said. “I did it last year and barely made it to shore alive. Who knows when there will be an opportunity for Catherine?” 

“At least she won't have to sneak in the way we did, and fight her way through brigands and angry clansmen,” Bash said. “She can land in a nice, safe port town and get a proper royal escort.”

A royal page entered and bowed. 

“Lady Moray, there's a message for you from Reverend Knox. He wants to meet with you today at your convenience.”

“He must want to lecture me on enjoying myself in public. At my convenience? Tell him to meet me here, this afternoon. I'm not in a mood to go to him.” 

She made him wait. He tapped his fingers on the table in the small conservatory, and sipped rapidly cooling tea. God willing, if his plans succeeded, he'd never have to wait for a royal again. They'd be dragged down to earth with everyone else, where the only law would be God's law. When Lady Isobel did enter, she looked flushed and slightly harried. She wore a simple green dress, and appeared barefaced. Good. He preferred her that way. She was a naturally beautiful girl, and like many beautiful girls, seemed to believe cosmetics enhanced that, when they more often made girls look like cheap prostitutes. 

“So very sorry, Reverend. We had a bit of a family medical drama this morning. Queen Francoise took ill last night.”

“I hope she's alright,” he lied.

“She will be,” Isobel said evenly. “Are you enjoying your Christmas?” 

“Emily and I had a lovely day yesterday. We took a sleigh ride out to visit her relatives. This morning,we distributed food to the poor. And of course, attendance at church is flourishing in these hard times.”

“Now that we seem to have won over the country, Protestants no longer fear venturing out to celebrate their faith of choice in public,” Isobel said. She poured more tea for both of them, blathering about her latest Christmas presents and last night's party menu. He was content to let her continue, at least her voice was smooth and low pitched, unlike the annoying squeak so many other young women had. As she leaned forward, the dip between her breasts coming into view, he smelled another man on her. Fornicating again. The sin of Lust was Isobel's downfall, lust for food, lust for drink, lust for pretty things, lust for power (though she pretended otherwise), but most of all, for men. So many men, but never the one who had stood by her side for years, guiding her through the perilous terrain of leadership when she had been a woman alone, playing all sides to save her life.

“I said,” Isobel repeated, “What is it that you wanted to discuss with me?”

“Lady Isobel,” he said. He took her hand, with its delicate royal signet ring and led her to the windows, out of earshot of the servant in attendance. Her lovely face had a questioning expression, but she went were she was led. “I considered it my privilege to watch you grow up, to be your friend and teacher. I'm very proud of the staunch champion of the faith you've become. But I find my feelings for you have changed, and deepened.” He caressed her cheek, soft and flushed like a rose petal. “I have tortured myself with guilt over this, the sinful thoughts I've had are damning, but I couldn't go another day without being honest. Lady Isobel, my feelings have become romantic, and _of a sexual nature_.”

“I'm surprised, but I am quite flattered, Reverend,” she murmured, smiling kindly. “I need...time to consider your suit. You know how I am, I can be silly about making decisions, wanting to have my cake and eat it too, wanting to please everyone.”

“Yes, I understand. This is a complicated, inappropriate, revelation. I don't expect a firm answer immediately.” But at least it hadn't been greeted with violent outrage. He'd expected her to demur at first. 

“We must also consider your wife, who is my friend, and so sweet and innocent. You should go to her while I think on this. Please. If you'll excuse me.” She left the room, with a facial expression he couldn't read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was supposed to be two chapters but I decided to split them, so I'll have to amend this as "A Christmas Drama in *Three* Acts"
> 
> And the "reel" I heard while writing the party scene is the probably non existent Celtic folk version of "Green Light". Because that sounds awesome.


	3. Chapter 3

Isobel didn't realize the high pitched, panicked noises were coming from her until she was halfway down an upstairs corridor. She slapped a hand over her own mouth to try to stop them from escaping. She had maintained her composure until she was far out of his earshot, but now she could no longer hold back the waves of nausea and shock. Her stays were cutting off her breath, she tugged at the laces on her bodice, trying to get some air. 

It made no sense, and yet it did, a chilling, disturbing, level of sense. Malcolm's mother had always said that everyone wanted something and no one ever gave things away for free. She had patiently explained that, when one of the men who had claimed to be helping protect them from the Tudors out of loyalty to King James, requested her teenage stepdaughter as his thanks from a grateful nation. Obedient and cautiously optimistic, Isobel had woken to a much crueler reality. 

Isobel had been naive to assume Reverend Knox was any different. She hadn't thought she had any naivety left, but hope is a powerful thing. Isobel had believed that when he collected the enormous debt she owed him, it would be in the form of a new law or political appointment, a title or the punishment of a rival. She had never seen or heard of any hint of sexual impropriety around him, but now she understood why, his attention was focused on a single target. For how long? She saw their interactions in a new way, actions which she had thought were innocent, might have been intended as romantic, even possessive. He had been allowed a level of otherwise inappropriately close contact with her while giving religious instruction and political advice. What if- what if people were already whispering that they'd had an affair? What if she was doomed to never escape her reputation? 

In her distracted state, she slammed straight into a solid wall of masculine chest and let out an undignified half yelp. 

“Isobel! You're upset, what's happened?” Greer was still in his outdoor cloak and boots, flushed from the cold. 

“It's nothing, I'm fine. Just some bad news.”

“Are you?” Greer asked. The urge to confide in someone was too much and she found herself blurting it all out. 

“I thought he was my friend. I thought he was _helping me_. I mean, I didn't trust him entirely, I knew he had his own agenda but-”

“Who?” Greer asked. 

“Reverend Knox!” Isobel said. “ I tried to believe, for my country, and for him, to make him proud of me like-a-a father would be. I wanted a _father_. Even if he was less than perfect. I haven't always agreed with him, but I thought I could live with it because he saved my life. ”

“Slow down! Has he hurt you?” Greer stepped back, eyes obviously searching her for physical injuries. 

“No, he was respectful. I- he thinks he _loves me_. Which he can't possibly. He _can't_. Is this a cruel joke? A ploy, to get me to let down my guard entirely, so he can hurt Malcolm? ” 

“Shhh, you are too distressed to have this conversation out here.” Greer hurried Isobel into her room and closed the door behind them. Isobel slumped down on an upholstered bench. Greer brought her a cup of fresh water. 

“I did notice the way he looks at you, when he thinks no one is watching,” Greer admitted. “It's not an act.” 

“How do you think he looks at me?” Isobel asked. 

“Like a man not allowed sugar who has just wandered into a room full of candy, “Greer said. “His wife is a lovely young lady but she's a kitten, and you're a panther.”

“If that was all it was, just his being distracted by how different I am. But he thinks he's in love with me. Why does he think that? What have I done to bring this about? ” 

“You're convinced he's insincere, or mistaken.”

“No one ever-” she stammered,"no one says the things he said- to me." 

“Which is worse to you, Isobel, that he could love you, or that you did not think anyone could?”

She didn't respond. 

“ Don't be so surprised that a man could fall in love with you. ” He reached out one hand to brush a lock of hair from her face. The touch, so gentle and cautious yet familiar and assured, broke the dam inside her. Greer kissed her, and she returned the kiss hard, braving her way through the mounting panic. She had his belt open before she realized what she was doing.

Knox did not love her. He only thought he did, a man who didn't respect women, or like most of them, could never truly love one. He felt lust, and condescending affection, for a fantasy girl. Isobel had been trying to turn herself into that girl, whether or not she'd realized it, because she shapeshifted into whatever pleased other people the most, so they would want her. She had been presented with a political choice, _change or die._ So she had changed, and he'd given her an idea of who she could become. 

But Isobel wanted to be loved for herself, by someone looking for an equal. Greer didn't understand everything, he never could, but he was trying so hard. He was funny, kind and brave. In bed, he was athletic, unselfish and insatiably curious about what felt good to her. He seemed sincere about wanting to know what was on her mind and didn't dismiss her opinions. When she asked him not to do something, he stopped doing it. When she was afraid, he gave comfort or space, whichever she seemed to need. And unlike her other current suitor, he loved her family and wanted what was best for them. She trusted him wholeheartedly. 

If she showed Knox her scars, he would tell her he was sorry she'd had to experience that, but it was an important lesson to learn about her role as a wife. She had met him while she was still going through it, and he had told her that even if she was the innocent party, it was her lot to endure the situation as best she could rather than fight against it. Perhaps God had set this as a challenge for her, to save the man's soul by showing him a Christian example. Isobel had half fallen for it, too. Greer had told her she was a good person who did not deserve to be hurt. No judgment, no lectures and no attempt to justify the unfairness of it. 

And she wanted Greer physically in the worst way, wet and climbing into his lap, clutching at his shoulders while he thrust up inside her, his hands tangled in her hair, those little gold combs falling to the floor. 

It shouldn't have been a contest, if the only question was which man she actually wanted. But she still had to figure out how to tell Knox she didn't want to be his mistress. And the thought frightened her.

“Greer?” Isobel asked later. She stroked her foot over his leg, hoping to entice him into another go round. 

“Hmm?”

“I meant to ask before. What's a panther?”

“It's a sort of big cat, like a tiger, only with dark fur, and they live in the jungles of Africa and the New World.”

“Grrr,” Isobel growled, making claws with her fingers and pretending to scratch him. Laughing, Greer rolled her underneath him, and dove his face between her legs. Isobel squealed happily. She was irritated when a page interrupted their lovemaking to tell her Malcolm wished to speak with her as soon as possible. 

“Listen, I have great news,” her brother announced when Isobel arrived in his receiving room the next morning. He paced the room excitedly. “I've found a chink in Knox's armor. Apparently, the man of God's eyes stray to people other than his wife. No evidence he's done anything yet, but he could perhaps be pushed over the edge. ”

“And you think we could use some girl as a honey trap?” Isobel asked.

“He'd never fall victim to a prostitute or some random lady of the court. Actually, I was thinking we could use _you_ as the honey trap. He likes you, for some reason, you are the only woman on earth other than his wife he'd allow to get close enough to do him some damage. ”

“You can't ask me to do that,” Isobel said. _What?_ She was sure her mouth had just fallen open in baffled shock. 

“Why not?” Malcolm sounded grumpy, perhaps he had missed his naptime. 

“Because he told me he has feelings for me,” Isobel tried to explain. “I don't want him. The worst thing that I could ever do would be to give him any false hope. I know you dislike him, but Knox is a human being with actual feelings. I have never purposely ruined a marriage, planned it out with accomplices and used someone's poor innocent wife , my _friend_ , as cannon fodder.”

“Isobel, he's a threat to my rule. You can't be on both sides. It's time to choose.”

“I'm not,” Isobel snapped. “I'm on yours and I have tried to prove that to you over and over and it's never good enough. My God, Malcolm, what did they do to you in France that you think this is acceptable?” 

“I know you got used to your independence and sovereignty. Making decisions for Scotland and living your own life. But I am your king, you are my subject and you will obey my commands!”

She tried to stop herself from flinching, but he saw anyway. His voice softened. He made a vague reaching gesture toward her as if he wanted to comfort her but had no idea how. 

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout. You know I would never-” 

Hit her. She knew that. Malcolm didn't hit women and it wasn't his fault that some men did. She lifted her chin and looked him in the eye, relieved that her voice didn't shake with the frustration and anger she felt. 

“You're acting like a spoiled little brat and _I am not your whore!_ ” 

“You're right,” he said, sitting down hard on the edge of his desk, his face falling. “I was cruel. It was an ungentlemanly suggestion.”

“Greer's good to me, he makes me happy. If I do what you want, and he finds out, I'll lose him, I'm sure of it. I want to be married again someday. I want children of my own. If this gets out, _my future is ruined._ I've never feared Knox would hurt me, but if he finds out I've been lying about wanting him, then there's no telling what he'd do. ” Better to let him think this was only about being weak willed Izzie who can't make decisions and worries too much about what people think of her, and fears reprisal, than trying to explain why she wanted to vomit at the idea of her hard won sexual freedom being turned against her like this. If she was more chaste, he would never have asked. 

“They won't find out,” Malcolm said.

“What makes you so certain?”

“You're too good of a spy. If women were allowed on the stage, you'd be one hell of an actress. ” 

She could not be bothered to be angry about it at this point, after a lifetime of hearing that only men got to have big dreams. Although as a bastard, if she was male she would have had to give up on many of her dreams as well, she would have had more options.

“You're right, while you were in France, I'd rather enjoyed not being anyone's property. Going where I pleased, being an equal to the men on your council. And I want to _matter_. If I am to go down in history, I don't want it to be for, well, _going down._ A dirty punchline about the famous minister's mistress. ”

“Iz, I'm sorry if I've treated you like you're a thing or like you don't matter. You're my sister, not a doll I can put back in the toybox when I don't need it. It's hard for men to say this, but the truth is, I'm scared, and I'm more alone than I thought I would be. Aren't you tired of being alone too?” He was pleading, and she could never resist her baby brother when he sounded like that.

“More than you could ever know,” Isobel murmured. 

“ You're the only family I have left, _we're_ all we've got. I need you. Give me your loyalty and I swear to you, I will value it. Because I can't do this without you. Please.”

“You get more from people when you ask them nicely, Malcolm,” Isobel said. “If I do this, if I do whatever you ask me to, I need you to swear that I have your loyalty and protection too.”

“I swear it,” Malcolm said. “On a Bible. In blood. On our father's name, I'll keep you safe if this goes south.” 

“You want me to break off my friendship with Knox, while simultaneously seducing him?” He was asking her to do this, while rendering herself vulnerable to Knox in a way she'd never been before. But Malcolm was right, if they were going to make this move, she was the only one who could do it. And no matter how hard she tried, she never seemed able to transcend the belief others had that she was built for this purpose. Why not give in and embrace it, if it helped her brother? 

“Exactly.” Malcolm began to pace again. “Come to my side, but make him think you're more on his side than ever by being in his bed.”

“Mhmm. I'll test the plan the next time I see him,”Isobel said. How else could she ease Malcolm's fears about her one hundred percent unwavering loyalty? “I'll put out some bait, and see if he bites. Malcolm, you said you felt alone. But you have a wonderful wife.” 

“You said I don't trust you. I do. I'm going to tell you something I haven't told anyone else,” Malcolm said. He stopped pacing and stared down at a pile of books on the desk. “Frannie was unfaithful.” 

She'd suspected that. Not much happened at Scottish Court that Isobel was unaware of. But she let him continue. 

“It's my fault. You're right, I've become harder, colder, more ruthless and demanding. I barely recognize myself anymore. And I was obsessed with restoring my crown. I ignored her loneliness and her homesickness. She had an affair with Lord Lachlan, you may have noticed he's no longer present at court. And...we're not sure the baby is mine.”

“The world must believe it is,” Isobel said firmly,giving his arm a reassuring pat. 

“Yes. I need an heir. Hopefully, a healthy male heir. And soon, before our cousin has one.”

“ Our cousin,” Isobel said, “would have to sleep with someone first. Gossip says there's been no luck on that front. It seems as though you've reconciled with your wife? I would almost not have known there was a problem at all, so I assure you, no one else suspects.”

“I love her, Isobel,” Malcolm said. “ I love her with everything I have. I couldn't bring myself to punish her for treason. Not when I made her come to this wet, freezing place full of accents she can't understand, away from her family and friends and proceeded to ignore her pain. This is half my fault. And she made a mistake, but now she may not survive it due to circumstances beyond our control, and that's not something I would have ever wished on her. All I want now is to forget the indiscretion and carry on as normal. But I'll always know in the back of my mind, that even my queen, my childhood love, is not as loyal as I believed her to be.”

“There are those who would claim concepts such as marital fidelity and romantic love are not for royals.” 

“I guess I hoped we could be different and I've never mastered the art of not getting my heart broken.”

King Malcolm alighted from his horse inside the prison gates. He entered the building with his guards flanking him in front and behind, his warden led the way to the prisoner's cell. This cell was much larger, cleaner and better appointed than the others, with books, a better bed, and a desk for writing. Its occupant was not chained, and fell to his knees upon seeing the king. 

“Thank you for the new cell, My King,” Lord Lachlan murmured. He was clean, and looked well fed but wan and there was no fire left in his eyes. The most comfortable prison cell in the world is still a prison.

“It's Christmas, which is a time for charity toward even those we dislike, those who don't deserve it.”

“Your Majesty, it has been four months and I hoped-” Lachlan began. 

“You are daring to ask for a reprieve?” Malcolm stared down at him indifferently. “You haven't just hurt me, one of your oldest and dearest friends, you have hurt Scotland . You've committed the highest of treason against your country and your king. When I needed your loyalty the most, you took my wife behind my back and I can never forgive you for that.”

“Is-Is the Queen alright?” Lachlan asked.

“ _The Queen_ is pregnant. There's the thorny question of who the father is, and there are only certain people who can ever know there _is_ a question. A revelation like that could ruin everything we've all been working towards for nineteen years. So I can't have you running around a free man. But I can't kill you, I'd have to explain why. So it seems we're at an impasse. You'll remain behind these walls until I decide what to do.”

December 31st, 1559

“Where's your sister?” Greer asked,poking his head into the library. He'd hoped they could make the rounds of Hogmanay parties, and that she might introduce him to more of her friends. 

“She went off to church a few minutes ago,” Malcolm said. The king was neither attending nor hosting a party, owing to a need to comfort and care for his bedridden wife. Francoise, covered in fur blankets beside the fireplace, was sketching a landscape while Malcolm read a history book. 

“Church. I didn't know they were holding a mass tonight.”

“They're not called masses. But off she went, modest attire, prayer book, all of it.”

“I feel,” Greer said, “as if there's something going on no one is talking about.”

“Well, that's what you get with Isobel, always like living with some sort of spy,” Malcolm said blandly. 

In truth, Greer was sure Isobel had gone to speak with Knox. Whatever answer she gave him, and however he reacted, would change Greer's prospects as well. He'd be leaving Scotland with either a fiancee or a broken heart. 

“Oh, Reverend,” Isobel sighed, “I want so badly to be a good Christian. But-”

“But...?” He nudged the tea pot towards her across his study table. Emily was out assisting with a sick parishioner, and not expected to return for hours. 

“But I've fornicated again. With a man at court.” She had chosen one of her most modest dresses, kept her hair equally simple and applied only the lightest of cosmetics, on the assumption that, since she had presented that way on the day he confessed his feelings, it was a look which he found particularly appealing. 

“The Lord will forgive you, if you are truly penitent, Isobel. There is always redemption for those who struggle, if they are brave enough to ask for help.”

“But if I just understood why I keep doing it. I think...” she toyed with the cross around her neck, drawing his eyes to her cleavage, “I've lacked a strong male authority figure.”

“Perhaps.”

“My father- my father died when I was just a wee lass. Malcolm is hardly more than a child. As Regent, I was forced into such an unnatural role for a woman, it was so very tiring, playing the man. And not to speak ill of the dead, but my late husband was a weak and wicked man.” She glanced up at him with watery eyes, a sad fawn lost in the woods, and moved in for the kill. “Not like _you_.”

“All men have weaknesses, Isobel. I've already told you that you are mine.” Knox petted her hair gently. She placed her palm over his heart, playing unsure and vulnerable. It really was pounding.

“We could ruin each other,” she said. “You're married. It's a terrible sin.”

When he kissed her, it was a perfectly acceptable kiss, if she had wanted him more she would have rated it higher. But she let him take the lead for now, only subtly directing him toward what felt better, moaning appreciatively at the right times. 

“As long as you're mine, you won't lay with Captain Norwood again,” Knox said in between kisses.

“You can have two women, but I can't have two men?” Isobel asked petulantly. He gave her that look, the one that said he knew all her secret sins and did not approve. There was no point wondering how he knew they'd been sleeping together, he just knew things. If he wasn't so anti witchcraft, she'd suspect him of having powers of foresight. 

“Not that man. I don't know where he's been and neither do you. I'd like you to belong to me exclusively, but absolutely not him. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, _alright_ ” she said, giving him the pushback he found endearing but allowing him to win in the end, which he always preferred. What was another lie on top of the rest? 

“And I'd like you to tell me the ways you know of avoiding a pregnancy...without compounding our sins.” 

“There are so many other things we can do,” Isobel said. “ _Creative things_. Things your wife doesn't do or even know about.” She slowly raised her skirts as she talked, leaning back in the chair and parting her thighs. His eyes, dilated with awed excitement, followed her movements. She kept her eyes on the wall behind him as she made a show of touching herself for him, defiantly imagining Greer in his place. 

She was still leaking, on the carriage ride back to the castle, staining the back of her dress underneath her cloak. He hadn't made her reciprocate, and he'd offered to let her clean up, but she had politely refused, wanting to be gone before Emily returned. She had long since become used to the feeling, but still didn't understand how it was possible, to be so powerful and feel so helpless at the same time. Outside the windows of the carriage, it was all color and noise , Edinburgh celebrating the new year. 

January 1st, 1560

Greer was waiting for her in the castle courtyard. His hopeful expression faded when he caught sight of hers. 

“You said yes to him.” 

She was too ashamed to look him in the eye. 

“Why?” he demanded. “It's not his looks, you don't need any money, and he can't possibly be better in bed. Not unless you need something strange and specific, if so, tell me and I'll do it for you. Is it the power he can offer?”

“I'm not in a position to follow my heart. Not for now,” Isobel said. 

“So I'm supposed to patiently wait until you're finished having an affair with a man you don't love, for God knows what reason?” 

“It's not as if you love me,” Isobel muttered.

“I do. I _do love you_. How can you still be so unsure of my affections?”

“ _I don't know_.” Because this sort of mutual love didn't happen to her. “You are in my heart. I thought about you while I was with him, I wanted to be with _you_.”

“You thought about me while you were riding some other man? Come back to me when you've got a better answer.” Greer strode off into the castle, leaving Isobel standing alone in the snow. It would be even more embarrassing if she looked like she was following him, so Isobel took the path through the garden. The paths were lit only by the glow from the windows, and all of the plants were dead and covered with snow. It suited her melancholy mood perfectly as she tried to repress her exhausted tears. Isobel heard someone nearby, chanting a prayer lowly in a language she didn't understand. She stepped closer and gasped. 

A cup, a knife, a charm on a necklace, Bash's face tilted toward the moon. 

“What are you doing?” Isobel demanded.

“Isobel! I-” Bash scrambled to block the evidence. 

“You're a-a pagan. Does Malcolm know this? Is this why you pray in the garden? Because you can't do your _rituals_ in a church?” _Witchcraft_. In her brother's own home. But Isobel was a rational woman and tried to approach this without ignorant panic. It was Bash, her beliefs may have been incorrect but she would never harm their family. 

“Forgive me,” Bash snapped, fear in her eyes, “but I'm not having this conversation with a follower of John Knox. I'm a Catholic, I know your people don't like it , but you can't burn me for that yet.”

“ I am a member of his church and he has been my friend and adviser. But if you knew the damning things I know about him, you would understand that I will never betray your secret to him, or to your church or to anyone else who would persecute you for it.”

“Oh, Isobel...” The expression on Bash's face was too perceptive, and too sympathetic. It was humiliating. 

“So, how do I have any right to judge your choices?” Isobel asked bitterly. 

“And it _was_...your choice?” Bash's tone was so _careful_.

“I know what he is, and I did it anyway,” Isobel replied. “I have my reasons.”

“Love makes us do things we never could have predicted,and it comes to us in strange forms,” Bash said.

“Aye,” Isobel said, thinking of the shocking lengths she was willing to go to for Malcolm and for Scotland, although Bash was assuming she had spread her legs out of a more personal motivation, “That it does.”

Bash had a hot, lavender scented bath drawn for her. Isobel washed herself while Bash wandered off to get ready for bed. Isobel's disgust with herself snuck up on her in flashes. She had crossed a line tonight, and if she couldn't get the information Malcolm needed soon, she would have to take things further. She would have to sleep with him, and that was a door which, once opened, could not be so easily closed. And who knew how long she'd have to continue in this trap of her own making? She pressed her cheek against the warm edge of the tub.

“Saying yes once, doesn't mean you have to say yes every time,” Bash said. Her bare feet slapping against the stones was the only sound she'd made reentering the room. “Remember, it doesn't matter how many times or who you share it with, it's your body.” 

“Huh?” Isobel said blearily. “Is that what your religion teaches?” She had lived as if it were true since the death of her husband, but it was rare, hearing someone confirm that, and not shame her for it. Bash began gently braiding Isobel's hair. 

“The Old Ways are less harsh on the subject than the Christianity I professed as a child. They don't believe the world was damned by a woman or that we can only remedy this by imposing harsh, arbitrary rules about sex. It's about joy, and connection and celebration of life. I mention this because the two of you are violating your beliefs, for the sake of whatever this is, but you seem miserable.” 

“It's very complicated,” Isobel said.

“Yes, I'm sure it is.”

In their shifts and dressing gowns, they paid a visit to the queen. A smaller bed had been relocated to a ground level room with big windows overlooking the gardens, so Francoise didn't have to attempt the stairs. 

“My friends!” Francoise exclaimed. “My friends, my sisters, who have spent so much time ignoring me. And what is this?” A kitchen maid entered after them, carrying a tray of cups and a steaming silver pot. Bash thanked the maid and told her she wouldn't be needed again tonight. 

“It's drinking chocolate,” Isobel explained. “Greer brought it,via Spain. He says that in the native tribes of the New World, it's drunk by their kings and queens.”

“Then I suppose only one of us can drink it,” Bash said. It was spicier than Isobel expected, and almost overwhelming in its scent but it warmed her down to her toes. 

“ _Non_ , you are both princesses to me,” Francoise said firmly. She took their hands and pulled them to sit on the bed. “You are daughters of kings, in a fair world, you would be acknowledged as such by everyone.”

“At least my father gave me his name, and for that I'll always be grateful,” Isobel said. “He wasn't perfect but he tried to take responsibility, to make sure we all had some form of security. I felt loved and cared for, if often lost in the shuffle of all the other children.” It was something to cling to after he was gone, when attitudes toward his bastards changed. 

“I never knew where I stood with King Henry,” Bash mused. “Our relationship ended in his going insane and forcing me to marry his lover Kenneth.”

Isobel almost choked on her drink. 

“I know, there's so much there you don't know how to respond to,” Francoise said. “It sounds amusing now, but our lives and futures were held in the hands of a madman. My brothers were too cowardly to do anything about it, so Malcolm did.”

“I thought Henry Valois died in a tournament?” Isobel asked. 

“He did,” said Bash. “But, it was easy to find different armor and a standard no one recognized. Malcolm was victorious without anyone ever knowing it was him.”

“So, we're not saying my brother deliberately assassinated a foreign king,” Isobel stated. 

“Such a conversation has never and will never, occur,” Francoise replied. “But in return, I've let him down so terribly, and hurt him in the worst way.” She stroked a palm over her swollen stomach. 

Bash shot a suspicious glance at Isobel. 

“Mal told me,” Isobel admitted.

“We pretend there's a question, but I know the truth. It's not his child. I couldn't stand to see Malcolm lose hope. He is beset on all sides and he needs an heir. ” 

“Malcolm and Lachlan have similar coloring and features, no one may ever guess,” Isobel said. 

“And we will be the best aunts in the world, and never treat the child as anything other than the king's,” Bash added. “They will never be unwanted or unloved, and they will never be made to feel guilty for a mistake which wasn't their fault.” 

“Is it really like that for bas- illegitimate children?” Francoise asked. 

“It...depends on the circumstances,” Bash said. “Remember how your mother would say, to my face, that I wasn't your real sister? And how Father made me pay for thinking I could have a man promised to you?”

“When I first began to grow into womanhood,”Isobel said, “and I was pretty, the court whispered that I'd be promiscuous. I was labeled with my mother's supposed sin, a wicked temptress who needed to be tamed. It didn't matter what I did, I was a virgin on my wedding day but no one believed me. Then I met a man who said he saw potential for more in me, he said if I turned to God, he could help me. I think I became his mistress tonight.”

“You and I are simply two sides of the same coin,” said Francoise. “Imperfect,fallen women.”

“So, just human beings, then?” Bash murmured.

The sisters, the adulteress, the heretic and the harlot, talked until dawn, when the first sun of the new year rose over a sleepy, snow covered town . 

_Do you wonder as you watch my face_  
If a wiser one should have had my place  
But I offer all I am  
For the mercy of your plan  
Help me be strong  
Help me be  
**Help me**  
Amy Grant, “Breath of Heaven”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I wanted to quote from a Christmas song...you can listen to this piece from the pov of The Virgin Mary [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TOQRtYYERGo).
> 
> So um. Remember how I said I'd screw up my own timeline? Well, the idea was to have all of this happen one year earlier than in canon because Malcolm and Francoise had no reason to linger in France. And yeah, I promptly forgot. 
> 
> And downgraded the rating from "explicit" to "mature". 
> 
> Protestant Scotland at this time and for quite some time after, discouraged big elaborate Christmas celebrations, but after all, Malcolm is Catholic and grew up in France.
> 
> Remember, if this seems unresolved, it's part of a much larger ficverse I'm working on.
> 
> Also, sorry, not sorry.


End file.
